


Claims Adjusted

by Carbon65



Series: Claims Adjusted [1]
Category: Captain America, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, 5 and 1, A bunch of SHIELD agents walk into a bar, Acapella Groups, Altos go "LaLaLa" like awesome people, Arc Reactor, Baby sitting sucks, Banner is a sweetheart, Beer, Bookstores you want to visit, Breakfast Food, Budapest was NOT awesome, Captain America - Freeform, Captain America can sing, Chitari Invasion, Coulson perfers whiskey, Deaf Clint Barton, Even SHIELD agents have to do laundry, F/M, Food Delivery is awesome, Gen, Hotels, Insurance, Karaoke, Mad Scientists, New Jobs, New Mexico, New York was destroyed, Party in the USA, Pho makes excellent breakfast, Powell's World of Books, SHIELD, Singing, Small Towns, Stark is a science geek, Tacos, Taylor Swift - Freeform, The Hulk has bad taste in music, There might be a hunter in our midst, Tony Stark can be hard to understand, grad studens, grant obsession, more drinking, sisters are annoying, someone bought Hawkeye Legolas Pajamas, superhero, thor likes to drink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbon65/pseuds/Carbon65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maegs Woodhouse got the job at SHIELD mostly by accident. She ended up in SHIELD’s Insurance Department through nerves, luck, Deadpool, and a smart mouth. And, she’s going to kick ass at her job. Or, the five times Insurance unknowning met the Avengers and the one time they remembered her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maegs

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my sister.

Dateline: April 2008  
Shield Helicarrier, New York Harbor

Maegs got the job at SHIELD mostly by accident. Well, accident and connections.  
Her former college neighbor, Art, used his computer science/art degree to score a coveted internship at Stark Industries. That had escalated into a full time position. So, he occasionally saw SHIELD agents. Well, he occasionally caught a glimpse of an exhausted Coulson touring the factory and Director Fury scowling at everything through his single, beady eye. And then Mikey’s cousin, who was a janitor, heard about a job in food service. 

It wasn’t like Maegs had anything better. She was six months out of college with a liberal arts degree of questionable value. She could describe what was preventing her from get a job in economic terms, but it didn’t make Maegs employable. Adult children were not intended to move back in for extended periods of time, and it was causing serious strain on a once stable relationship. So, when she’d read the online job posting for servers and kitchen assistants at a shadowy government entity that advertised 25K with room, board, two weeks of paid vacation plus time off for government holidays, comprehensive health insurance with dental and a 401K, she signed up. Maegs knew it wasn’t a kings ransom, it it was better than spending another month with her parents.

Maegs was surprised when she got an interview, even more so when she got the position. She supposed that her years of work for the Jesuits back in college had helped. SHe’d worked two years as an assistant housekeeper and dishwasher. The job had involved herding priests (a little like herding cats, although priests were more likely to give her a benediction than scratch you) and making sure that the refrigerator was always stocked with ice cream. Somehow, the two years of work got her the job.

So, Maegs packed her duffles and backpack anyway and caught a regional jet to New York City. She spent her first night in the cramped apartment that Art, Mikey, their friends Jaime, Tony and a random, crazy girl they’d acquired through Jaime’s studies at NYU. Morgan was not going to be invited back next year, regardless of the $800 she contributed to the rent.

She arrived at the helicopter for her first day of work with her duffle bag, her backpack and a massive Tanya Huff anthology. Maeg’s older sister, Jos, had bought it as a “You’re about to spend seven months god knows where” present. Tactfully, neither sister had mentioned that the book was only a few thousand pages, something Maegs could finish in a few days if she really wanted to. But, she’d saved it for her first day of work. She’d always been the girl in high school who had carried a book like a security blanket. 

 

Maeg’s training group started out as twenty-one.

SHIELD required an emergency contact and a W2 in addition to a full government background check and a non-discolsure agreement. One of the boys in Maeg’s group had laughed when “Director Fury’s Night Cap” and “Agent Romanov’s breakfast” were listed on the non-discoluser agreement. He was the first to go.

The others trickled away. Two got list in the walk-in freezer and were discovered making out behind a cow carcass. At least the blonder boy blushed at his workplace indiscretion.   
Adam left after an incident involving bacon grease. Maegs wasn't sure if he was transferred or fired outright. No large men in suits had come for the others.   
Iz determined she couldn’t say no to “The Hot Guy with a Bow”. Agent Brompton sent out memo reminding the kitchen staff of their duty to serve green stuff to the agents to keep them healthy.  
A recruit whose name sarted with a B, or V, or D was gone over a mix up about coffee. Ze had already delivered an order from someone called Deadpool (Triple shot of expresso with cinnamon, a double shot of irish creme and a paper umbrella), and been chastised throughly. When the order from Deputy Director Hill (Columbian with a splash of vanilla almond milk). When that second ordered didn’t get delivered to the tired, frustrated deputy director, the agent didn’t remain on the Helicarrier. Maegs made a mental note that SHIELD took their coffee seriously.  
The last two quit when Agent Carson, their trainer, announced it was taco night and a Mr. Wilson was on board. One was the former propritier of a Taco Truck in the Bronx which had mysterious been damaged. The other didn't give their reason. They just handed in their aprons, and reported to medical for their release exam.  
The group was down to lucky number thirteen.

Maegs was nervous, but it wasn't worth quitting a good job over tacos. She had done a little reserach on SHIELD, like any sane person about to join a shadowy government agency. Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, had come up in a few reports. What she found was disturbing. Nothing she couldn’t handle after fourteen years with her disgusting brother, Paulie and his best friend, Jackson (Jackson Adam Harris Carter Westing). But, she had a few trepidations.

She was even more nervous when she got assigned to sides. There was some comment about Maegs being tiny (5’2 and 120 lbs on a good day) and not able to handle big trouble. The two biggest guys in the recruitment program (Ryan and Ted) were put on the taco and enchilada stations, respectively. Apparently Agent Wilson had a tendency to get violent when his requests for fifths were denied. Maegs was secretly grateful that all she had to do was dish rice and beans and keep the salsa bowls filled.

 

It turned out that the sides could be sort of boring. She said as much to Stevie, an Agent her mother’s age who was curating the salad bar. Stevie just glared at her. “Neva, Neva say that it’s borin’ oar quiet. It’s just da calm before da storm.”

Maegs ignored Stevie’s advice and tried to amuse herself with her future plans. Five years of this, and she’d have enough stashed away to take a good long vacation and write a book. Or something. Not that she really wanted to be dishing vegetables for the next sixty months, but it was somthing. The line drew out before her in a monotony matched only by drilling vocabulary or the list of chores her mother had left her every day (walk the dog, vacuum the stairs, dust the downstairs, wash the dishes, apply for jobs). 

She studied the people who passed by, counting uniforms. There were only about five among the SHIELD employees. 

The various Deputy Director Hill hanger-oners all dressed the same way: skin tight royal blue accepted with pleather and vinyl. Maeg’s wasn’t entirely sure what they did, but it seemed to involve resisting vegetables and regularly requesting beer and bacon. Jos, Maeg’s older sister, who would come it visit during Maeg’s third month at SHIELD (but that’s another story), asked if the person who designed the uniforms had been into BDSM in one of her snarkier mood. 

The Handers, Accountants and Department Heads, like Agent Coulson, wore suits in various shades of black, white, and gray. The very daring (Facchino, for example, who liked a double cappuccino at 8 pm with a chocolate biscotti) might substitute a vest instead of a jacket or a blue tie for a gray. For the most part though, the suits were monochromatic. 

The science-y people lived in scrubs or lab coats. They’d arrive in their pale blue or one-white pale gray with safety glasses on their foreheads and gloves sticking out of their pockets. Maegs refused to serve anyone who came in “Two by Two, Hands of Blue” which won chuckles from the Geek squad and finally convinced them not to wear their gloves outside the lab or clinic. 

Maeg’s fellow service employees - janitors, and other servers, were in black button-down shirts with the SHIELD logo and black slacks so they could blend into the Helicarrier. 

Then, there were the Agents, themselves. They tended to wear skin tight black or long black coats with combat boots. They slipped through the lines, always ate their vegetables except when their mouths were too bruised from fighting, and had haunted expression in their eyes. 

The hours dragged on, until they hit the six o’clock dinner rush. The lines got crowded, and Agents streamed past Maegs in a blur of blue and black. She got so tired that she’d shove a scoop of whatever side the Agent requested onto their plate and turn to the next person. 

That was, until a man in a red suit with a big black bag and swords crossed behind his back arrived. His plate was already piled high with enchiladas, tacos, and something that looked like a taco shell stuffed with an enchilada stuffed with nachos. 

“Would you care for rice, beans and/or salsas?” Maegs asked, trying to be polite.

Stevie gave her a look that read “Are you insane?” She ignored it, to her detriment. 

A grin split the red-masked man’s face. “Yes,” he said, determinedly. “You know what they say about beans being a magical fruit?”

Maegs raised her eyebrows, but she engaged. “The more you eat the more you toot? And the more you toot, the better you feel...”

“Which is why I like beans for every meal!” Deadpool retorted. He reached back, and flicked out one of his swords. It was quite long and quite pointy. “Seriously. Every meal.”

Maegs saw the sword pointing at her in the face. Her heart slowed and her stomach dropped. It wasn’t the first time in her life that she’s felt like she’s going to die. There was that time climbing Mount Hood when she was fifteen, and she’d gotten altitude sickness. Or when she’d been in lifeguard training and she’d had to play “drowned”. But this was the first time someone had pointed a sword at her face.

She glanced over at Stevie looking for help, but the older woman was non-responsive.

So, Maegs did what she did best: she thought on her feet and made smart-ass comments. “I’ll see if we can get some fuel behind that idea, Mr. Wilson.” She spoke calmly, the way she would when Paul lost his temper when they ran out of chicken at home. “But, for now, can I give you a big serving of beans so you can enjoy your gas, I mean, tacos, now.”

The Assassin studied her for a moment, and then laughed. He slipped the sword back into one of the sheaths on his back, and grinned disarmingly. Then, Deadpool gathered up his plate of Mexican and meandered off to terrorize someone else.

 

They debriefed after the meal. Apparently, it was a relatively successful, considering that Deadpool was on board. No one had died. Or been hit with a flying taco (although Wilson and Hill both SWORE the flying enchilada had been an accident). 

When Agent Carson asked for suggestions, she raised her hand.

“I have no problem serving Mr. Wilson, but I have a few requests for the next taco night.”

Carson raised his eyebrows. 

“One, I want my clothes either cleaned by someone here or replaced if I ever get hit by flying food. Two, I will not be the person to tell him that we are out. Who ever does that will need to dress like Bea Arthur.” She ticked off the points on her fingers. “And, three, could we create or enforce a ‘No Weapons’ rule?”

Carson blinked in surprise. “That’s ummm... reasonable, I think.” He looked at the group and shook himself a little. 

The meeting closed with a round of beers and ciders for those who drank, and soft drinks for those who didn’t

 

The next morning, Maegs was sleeping when Agent Carson called her. “Woodhouse, get your ass down to the dining hall right now.”

She grumbled something into the phone, threw on clothes and brushed her teeth.

She arrived at the dining hall a record five minutes later, pulling her hair into a ponytail in case she had to work.

Carson and a woman in a no-nonsense suit and dreads sat a table drinking coffee. Carson waved her over, and motioned for her to sit at the table.

“We’ve decided you’re not a good fit here.” Before Maegs could open her mouth to protest, the Agent continued. “We’re not firing you, just transferring you. Let me introduce you to your new department head.” He motioned between the two. “Agent Allen, I’d like you to meet Margaret Agnes Woodhouse. Maegs, this is Agent Allen.” 

Maegs shook the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” She paused to study the two Agents. “May I ask your department?”

Agent Allen smiled warmly. “I’d like to offer you a position in SHIELD’s Insurance Department.”

Maegs grinned back. “I’d love that.”

 

Dressed in a vintage skirt of her mother’s Maegs entered the SHIELD Insurance Department. She settled into her desk, and sat in her chair and spun for a minute. Then, an email popped up on her desk.

The billionaire, Tony Stark, had been kidnapped.


	2. Iron Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ongoing thanks to my sister for her advice, snarky comments and refusal to get a real job so she can text me back at four in the morning and inform me that she does NOT like burritos, but I had better give her beef tacos and a good vegetable.
> 
> Thanks also to everyone who is reading this. Its my first time in the fandom, and I appreciate the reception!

Dateline: December 2008;  
Stark Industries, Manhattan, NY

Maegs was getting ready to take off her high heeled shoe and stab someone with it. According to SHIELD legend, Deputy Director Hill had once pulled the stunt on a date gone wrong. Maegs' motivation was not romantically based, but that didn't prevent her from wanting to use the tactic. (Although as she stopped to think about it, the last interviewee had either been terribly embarrassed or trying to flirt with her. It was hard to define which...)

Even though she was only a junior agent, with less than a year of service, Agent Allen had quickly decided that Maegs was an asset in the field. For the most part, she could hold her head in the face of a crisis. She could manage basic first aid and some hand to hand. She didn't whine when they had to backpack and rarely arrived hung over. And, she had the invaluable skill of on-the-fly science to English translation. The last she came by honestly. Maegs had lasted about five quarters in civil engineering before the rules and expectations caught up to her. She was a hard worker, but she didn't work for works sake the way her sister and father did. And, if engineering hadn't been bad enough, her sister was an aggravating factor. Maegs had spent almost six years translating Jos' babbling about bonds, cells, and diffusion. Maegs could handle almost anything except organic or biological chemistry (which happened to be her sister's speciality.) As far as Maegs was concerned, anything chemistry related should be illustrated with the soft roundness of chibis and the soothing voice of Morgan Freeman.

Maegs looked at her surroundings and sank down the rough concrete wall facing the arc reactor. As her chin became parallel with her knees, she began composing a "To Kill" list, which was probably a "Decrease their adjustment payment by 10% so they won't notice" list. Not that Maegs would ever be so vindictive or passive aggressive. Well, not unless provoked. Seriously, if anyone hit on her again...

She couldn't decide who should top her list. The mostly greasy-haired, polyester-wearing, Wash Washburn-worshiping, male Stark weapons engineers ranked quite high. If she had to translate what an _ultra-sonic male endocrine disruptor_ would do to a human, she was going to go Agent Hill on their ass. (She was pretty sure the phrase meant "shrink their junk with high pitch noises". Scientists were really just ten year old boys.)  
On the other hand, it wasn't the scientists' fault their boss had been kidnapped, escaped, and went crazy and decided to build a fully articulated robotic suit... Nor was the disagreement between said boss and his power-hungry board members. Obadiah Stain should therefore be on list. After all he was the one who decided to provoke Iron Man.  
The superhero's name made her wince. Iron Man had already created a huge amount of work for SHIELD... for both Coulson's department and her own. Iron Man brought her back to the boss himself, Tony Stark: the ultimate Stark engineer and the man behind all this shit.

Maegs was contemplating the satisfying prospect of locking Stark in a small room without anything to amuse himself as the last set of interviews wrapped up. Caterers appeared with lunch. These were not from SHIELD (Maegs remained on good terms with SHIED food service. A few nice words and the occasional bottle of dark beer or merlot and they'd always set aside undressed coleslaw or raw green beans for her.) Maegs assumed Ms. Potts hired the caterers. She had long ago decided that she liked Tony Stark's personal assistant; Pepper Potts almost made up for boss's asshatness. Almost.

Maegs scrambled over to the taco bar. She had a fondness for crispy shells, cheese, and relative peace. The last was nearly impossible to find on the Helicarrier when Deadpool was on board. When Maegs saw the plate of cut carrots and sweet peppers, she was almost certain that she'd arrived in a corner of heaven that served seasoned beef and crudités.

The junior agent and her loaded plate returned to their corner of the lobby. She debated pulling out her contraband book. She was technically supposed to be socializing. This was a "working lunch". But, by not intervening, she gave the other agents and opportunity to practice their science-to-english. And, it wasn't her fault that New York was so much more boring than Westeros.

Actions justified, she slipped the paperback out of her bag and was about to crack the spine when a dark haired Stark geek plopped down beside her. On the whole, the man was better dressed and better groomed than most of his compatriots. His hair was well cut, but artfully rumpled, and he wore a Black Sabbath t-shirt over a scarlet thermal. "How far are you?" he demanded without pretense.

She considered telling the truth, but she was annoyed at life, the universe, and all things Stark. "Joffrey Barathreon was just revealed to be the love child of Varys and Arya." Her voice remained deadpan.

The geek blinked and laughed. It was a rich, full sound that echoed the concrete walls. "Of course," he agreed. " Remind me was this before for after we found out that Tyrian was really Ned Stark's heir and Daenarys' half-brother?"

"Spoilers, Sweetie," she replied in a psuedo British accent. 

The geek grinned unabashedly. "I take it you like Martin?"

She shrugged. "Thus far. He's easier to read than Tolkien. Martin is more careful about world building and there's less ridiculous _Deus Ex Machina_." She considered for a moment. "I freely admit having trouble with suspension disbelief, though. Sort of like with that arc reactor. The basic any-sufficiently-advanced-technology-is-indistinguishable-from-magic-bit."

The Stark engineer almost choked on a bite of his fish taco covered in Rooster sauce. Something about him changed and he went from mild-mannered nerd to indigent science ambassador in the time it took to wipe the sirracha from his chin. He launched into a long, complex treatise on physics, the likes of which Maegs had only ever seen when her sister, Jos, got going about her PhD dissertation project. Maegs could tell the man was passionate, but that didn't make understandable.

She put out a hand managed to catch him mid-sentence. "English," she prompted.

"I'm speaking English!" he sputtered indignantly.

She gave him one of her patented, chilling glares. It was an expression that had made teams of boys decide they really wanted to do work on their engineering project instead of playing Mortal Kombat and convinced taxidrivers to take her all the way home and watch her inside get inside her building before speeding off. Maegs decided to go for broke and use the one phrase that she knew would piss off a rambling scientist more than any other (she'd done some experimentation, and had a _p_ value less than 0.05). "If you can't explain it in terms a middle schooler can understand, you don't really know what you're talking about."

The man gapped at her, a piece of cabbage hanging out of his mouth unattractively. His jaw worked like a fish's. "I-I-I don't understand th-the arc reactor?" He stammered, furiously. "I'll show you understand."

He was fumbling at the hem of his T-shirt when Ms. Potts appeared to intervene. Even though the red head was slim and teetering on four inch stilettos, she levered the geek off then ground. (Maegs couldn't help but study the Jimmy Choos in envy, both for the height advantage they would confer and for the fact that they could probably pierce obnoxious nerd flesh.) 

"Com'mon, Tony," Pepper soothed. "It's time for your interview." The red head nodded to her boss' lunch companion. 

The young SHIELD agent gapped at the genius billionaire and his keeper. "Shit." Had she just shamed Tony Stark?


	3. The Widow and Hawkeye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Marie for inspiring some of the shenanigans and for tolerating my admittedly incessant discussion of all things Avengers. Including making her look through the entire pile of Hello Kitty, Star Wars, Batman, Hulk and Iron Man mugs in search of Hawkeye. Also thanks for my awesome Black Widow birthday cup, which was filled with cupcakes.  
> Have I mentioned that I have awesome friends and an awesome sister?

Dateline: July 2009  
The helicarrier (emblazoned with the Bea Arthur’s face); Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean

“How come I can’t go play in the pool?”

Maegs ignored her temporary charge, who was sprawled on her bed. The freckle faced boy with the big ears let out an audible sigh, which she also ignored.

Instead, she continued hunting for the laundry detergent she knew she had bought last time they were at port. She was _not_ paying for the over priced detergent in the Carrier store. It was bad enough she had to pay for laundry, but she supposed her salary had to go somewhere other than student loans and J Crew.

Maegs supposed that Parker was technically some kind of reward. Or an easy assignment or something: _Baby-sit the underage superhero to make sure he doesn’t destroy New York, and we’ll find you a good counselor to help you deal with everything that happened in Eastern Europe._ Even the surface thoughts of that trip made her shudder. She wasn’t sure if she could ever forget. She wasn’t sure how the agents she’d gone in to clean up after were still alive. She wasn’t sure how they were still willing to work for SHIELD. She was still struggling with her decision to stay. But, she was in too deep now.  
…Thus, Parker.

“Can I come with you to the dining hall?” The teenager sat up on the bed, danging his feet over the edge. “I’m hungry.”

Maegs shook her head. “You’re a teenage boy. Hell, you’re a teenage superhero. Well, I assume you’re a superhero.” She stopped herself from rambling. She had been nervous and ramble since she got back from Europe. It felt like her twenty-first birthday all over again, except that she didn't have to break up with anyone and divide up friends. She regretted losing the pair who grew tarantulas in the closet of their Capitol Hill apartment and re-homed snakes almost as much as she regretted dating Bobby. She took a deep breath. “Look, Parker, you’re under room arrest until Agent Coulson, Agent Allen, Deputy Director Hill, Director Fury, or the president tells me otherwise.”

The teenage boy had perfected his pitiful, starving child look. He reminded her a bit of Paulie, actually. Luckily, she had several years of practice with her brother. She ignored him.

He tried a different tactic. “Look, if I’d know it was off limits, I wouldn’t have gone in there.”

“There was a sign saying, ‘DANGER: Do Not Enter.’” She paused to think about it. “In six languages. … Well, eight, because I think Wilson amended it in Pig Latin and that made one of the Nerd Herd decide it needed to be written in Galfreyian.”

“I don’t read Galfreyian.” Parker objected.

“Neither do I, but somehow I manage to read the English signs,” Maegs retorted tartly. "And, even if you couldn't read, the pictogram of the person impabled by several sharp objects while struck by lightening was pretty graphic. His tongue is sticking out, so you can tell he's really concentrating or dead."

“His tongue is sticking out?" Parker demands, excitedly. "I was distracted…” He flipped so he was looking at her upside down. “M. J. is… M. J. is just … amazing. … Have you ever met someone that made your whole world… turn in circles?”

Maegs rolled her eyes. She didn’t have much tolerance for the hormones, or the way they made people crazy. It was always her job to talk his brother out of bad relationships while she was home. “M. J. is related to Hill,” she reminded her charge. “And Director Fury doesn’t like it when Hill is worried about the kids she's watching and not the ship. He tends to do something that involves the fear of God.”

She collected her laundry bag, SHIELD card, and detergent bottle.

“They weren’t my harnesses! Or climbing shoes!”

She tries to ignore the outburst, but keeping retorts in is not her strong suit.“I don’t care whose they were! I can’t believe you used them, there!” She slams the door behind her, frustrated with her charge. “Stay here until I get back.”

 

The halls of SHIELD carrier were mercifully empty of both children and agents as Maegs schlepped her laundry. She knocked, because you never know what you’re going to find in the Laundry room at SHIELD. Rumor was that someone once caught Fury in his tighty-whiteys dancing to _Old Time Rock and Roll._ The helicarrier was held aloft by whispers about commanding officers and stupid recruits.

There were a pair of laundry bags in the corner, and a couple over by the dryers: a redhead and a blond. She was in a pair of loose charcoal yoga pants, a sports bra printed with little roses. The bare-chested blond had on a pair of cut off black cargo pants and purple cross trainers. Maegs cleared her throat in hopes of announcing her presence.

The woman pulled the t-shirt over her head, and made a series of motions with her hands. Then, she lifted the man off the dryer, and spun him around, holding the man’s waist.

The blond leaned in to kiss his partner as she gently lowered him to the ground. His made motions to the woman.

She shrugged and turned to Maegs. “I’m sorry to impose, but are going to stay with your laundry?”

“Beg pardon?” Maegs was tired, and frustrated and somehow still reflexively polite.

The redhead remained stoic. “Are you going to stay with your clothes while you wash them?”

“Umm... I don’t have to...” Maegs was having trouble forming coherent sentences under the couple’s direct gazes. She knew they were agents (who else would be hanging out in the laundry room during the tiger cruise... well, other than her). “Just, you know, please don’t steal my clothes? Because its going to be hell getting more underwear out here.” She wasn’t sure how these things pop out of her mouth, but the stress is getting to her. Maybe the trip was still weighing more heavily than even she’d like to admit. And, Maegs was convinced that if she never saw forint, goulash, or Matthias Church again, she could be a happy woman and put the memories of clean up in Budapest out of her head.

THe man made a series of motions to the woman, who smacked him. Maegs realized it must sign language. She vaguely remembered attempts to learn to finger spell from Girl Scouts... which were severely hampered by her inability to spell. And, about three signs from choir choir in elementary school (all three of which are ways to say God).

The redhead smacked her partner, who grinned cheekily

“We promise not to,” the man's voice was a little louder than it needed to be. “But, umm, we can move your stuff over to the dryer, if you want. So you don’t have to come back.”

Maegs blushed, and briefly wondered what exactly they were doing in the laundry room. She knew better that to ask a pair of agents, but it didn’t stop her from wondering. She figured Parker might have a better idea than she did; he, at least, seemed inclined toward romantic and physical lesions. Then, she thought about her holey underwear and retro CareBear pajama bottoms. Suddenly, she remembered the carnage in Budapest, and the fact that some of the bodies were put there by SHIELD agents. Maybe even these SHIELD agents. Let them laugh at her underwear, she didn't want to piss them off. "That's fine…"

The pair share a look, and seem to communicate wordlessly. “Okay. Take your time.:

Maegs went over to one of the washers along the wall and shoved in her clothes. She was going through the pockets of her jeans when she found a stray one-forint coin her her pocket. She dropped it on the washer, unable to look at the coin. It clinked with a harsh, final-sounding note.

She threw the handful of Parker’s clothes that he’d given her in their own machine. They got stain and odor remover. The teenager hadn’t planned on spending more than a week away from the city, and he refused to wear anything SHIELD issue. So, if she didn’t want a charge that ran around naked, smelling like two day old teenage boy, Maegs had to make sure that Parker’s clothes got washed somehow.

The young insurance adjustor saluted the two agents, and slipped off to find someone sympathetic in a position of power (Allen, Hill, Brampton...) to beg for a stay of mercy on Parker. Not because he needed it, but because she was starting to go a little crazy watching him.

 

Maegs returned to the laundry room two hours later to collect her clean, dry clothes. Even though she knocked, this time, the agents had gone. She could only assume that they were engaging in their debauchery elsewhere. Her clothes (and Parker’s) were clean, dry and smelled more like Spring Breeze than sweat. She folded them, a nod to her mother’s sensibilities, and carried them, and a piece of good news for Parker back to the living quarters.

 

That night, Maegs watched a hungry, happy sixteen year old boy shovel in Agent Brampton’s excellent potato salad. Parker was so pleased to be free of his captivity that he was on his best behavior. He’d thanked every person they came across, and even presented Agents Allen and Brampton with origami flowers. Furthermore, Parker hadn’t even glanced over at Hill’s nephew, Mathew Joseph, where he was sitting with his aunt. 

Maegs kept one eye on her charge, and the other on a redhead and a blond who sat in a corner, talking and laughing. Both were wearing more clothes. The woman was in a pair of tight black skinny jeans, belts, and a skin-tight black v-neck with the SHIELD logo. She had a pair of with crossed, empty gun belts. The man wore a pair of black full length cargo pants and an aubergine t-shirt and black tactical vest. Maegs couldn’t see his weapons, but she suspected he, and his partner had a few hidden away. Most of the agents kept them around, but were smart enough to hide them. As long as Deadpool wasn’t on board, Brampton didn’t require the metal detectors. Except at during major holidays. Holidays got a little testy, even at SHIELD. 

As Parker was attacking his dessert with the same fervor he used on Dr. Connors, Deputy Director Hill and MJ came over. Maegs was proud of Parker: he managed to look appropriately contrite and not grin at MJ like a total idiot. 

“All right, Parker, it’s been discussed and we’ve decided that if you stick to approved areas of the boat, you may go out without a baby sitter.” Hill looked almost friendly. “But, if I ever catch you out of bounds again, you’ll think that three days under Agent Woodhouse’s watchful eyes were summer camp.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Parker hung his head. “I promise to stick to approved areas.”

Hill glanced at her own charge. “As for Matty... if you hurt him, well... I’ll let you imagine the consequences. Just keep in mind that quite a few of us look out for him.”

Parker nodded, nervously, and glanced at Matty, who had a mischievous glint in his eye.

The redhead and the blond wander past on their way to wherever active agents went when they weren’t eating or occupying public facilities. The blond came over, and rested a hand on Parker’s shoulder. “Getting threatened by Hill? Welcome to the family, kid.” His voice back back to a normal level.

Parker grinned to himself.

The redhead whispered something in Hill’s ear, and escorted her ... friend out of the mess.

Hill looked over at Maegs for the first time. “Sounds like you’ve done something right, Agent Woodhouse. The Widow and Hawkeye are quite impressed with Parker here. Keep up the good work.”

It’s all Maegs can do to keep from groaning. More babysitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MJ is male is light of the recent interview with Andrew Garfield where he made that suggestion. (http://marquee.blogs.cnn.com/2013/07/11/andrew-garfield-what-if-spider-mans-mj-were-a-boy/).


	4. The Hulk

Dateline: April 2010

Portland, Oregon

Its her second to last night in Portland, and Maegs is trying to enjoy it. She likes her coworkers. She likes the city. Hell, she’s even a good singer. So, karaoke with Agent Allen (she has trouble thinking of her boss as Cerise instead of Agent Allan), Evelyn the intern and Ag- Cerise’s friend, Bruce should be relaxing. They’re in a private karaoke room. A-Cerise has figured out a way to convince the finance department to pay for at least a few of their drinks and all of their appetizers.  She should be having fun. … Although fun might be easier if Cerise and Evelyn weren’t both completely tone-deaf.

       In general, this has been a quiet, almost easy assignment. At least, it’s been easy compared to anything involving the names like Stark or Wilson. She hasn’t had to brush up on blood spatter patterns, for instance, or weapons grades. And no one was injured by anything that could rank very high on the scoville scale. Actually, there were very few people hurt at all: a few bumped heads, a cut that required stitches and a broken toe. Although, the broken toe was due to Evelyn’s inability to ride a bike, not the actual original incident.

       To simplify matters, the damage just occurred in one building. At least, that’s how Agent Allan has phrased it to minimize the media attention. The fact that the damaged building is one of world’s biggest independent bookstores hurt more than Maegs expected. When she was an angry, lonely, middle schooler who had been moved away from all her friends, Maegs had buried herself in books. Normally, if she were visiting Portland, it would have been the place she would go to unwind, spend ungodly amounts of her paycheck, and pick up as many paperback advanced reader’s editions of her favorite books (clearly labeled Not for Resale) for half the price of the hardcovers.

       Instead, she has spent the last week in the science section, cataloging ruined tomes with titles like Lehinenger’s Biochemistry, 8th Ed., The Comprehensive Guide to Confocal Microscopy (a book for which she was pretty sure Jos would maim someone) and We are Star stuff.  Maegs refuses to admit it outwardly, but she enjoys working in the clean, quiet environment amid the books. Maybe, after she leaves SHIELD (if she ever leaves SHIELD), she’ll go back to school and study library science. In the mean time, she learned just how much science books cost (way too much).

       The story, as far as she can piece together, involved a mild manner man coming and looking for a particular book. The entire staff, the bystanders and the police report agreed on that particular detail. Somewhere shortly after the book was determined to be in the catalog, but discovered to be missing, a giant, angry green monster appeared. He started destroying the science section, until he overheard a street musician covering Party in the USA. This caused the green monster to burst through the back wall. The police found a naked man in the alley shortly thereafter.

Evelyn gets up to sing, picking a song by Kansas. It’s one that Jos likes to howl in the shower; says it reminds her of her best friend from college. Evelyn’s interpretation is, at least, drier than Maeg’s big sisters. Other than that? Well, if she were that wayward son, she might weep over the rendition.

       There are multiple details that cause Maegs to speculate.

She understands that book shopping can be expensive, but why not just go to a library instead? Or use Google Scholar. Or PubMed. Jos has offered, on multiple occasions, to send cookies to the curator of PubMed as a thank you because she’s not sure how she would get through life without it. Where did the angry green monster come from? Evelyn’s best suggestion was a demon. Then again, Evelyn has a weird tendency to draw salt lines across her hotel room windows and doors, so Maegs is not entirely sure about the girl.

Cerise gets up. She’s a little tipsy; multiple bottles of warm sake can do that to a woman. Despite that, her cover of Britney is good. Not just in tune, Maeg’s boss can dance and act. Actually, acting is more common at SHIELD than anyone would like to admit. It’s one of the better kept secret talents, along with the ability to crush heads between thighs, count cards, and always match shoes and socks. (Maegs has a theory there is a class offered in the last for some of the ... less fashion forward team members).

There is also the question of Miley Cyrus. If Maegs had to pick pop music that was catchy, and yet also induced feelings of rage deep inside her, it would probably be Party in the USA. Or maybe Baby. But, really, she struggles with most teeny-bopper music. Maegs was raised on folk music and Jazz: James Taylor, Joan Armading, Joan Osborn, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong and Bobby Darren. Parker might have once caught her singing Taylor Swift’s You Belong with Me into her hairbrush, but it had been playing over the Helicarrier Musak, and she’d been having a bad week. In general, Party in the USA would be more likely to bring out Maeg’s rage monster than supress her.

Maeg gets called up to the stage, next. She’s not nervous; she’s been singing since she was little. Her mom still tells the story of how five-year-old Maegs got up at the church talent show to fearlessly sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Sixteen straight years of choir convinced the SHIELD agent that while she might not have a distinct enough voice to qualify her as a diva, she can carry a tune. The quick piano cords of Bonnie Tyler’s Holding out for a Hero play, and she takes up the mike.

Finally, there’s the naked man. She knows its the job of Coulson’s team to identify threats, and sort out the causes of problems. The Insurance Department just comes into clean up messes and make sure that everyone gets reimbursed as fairly and as quietly as possible for anything that SHIELD might have caused to go wrong. They’re a clean up team. But, something nags at her about him. Mostly that the report describes him as a caucasian around five-eight, with dark curly hair and brown eyes.Strangely, this is a perfect description for Agent Cerise’s friend.

Maegs gets cheers and applause, and Evelyn pushes a bright red drink toward her. She accepts it with thanks. Cerise’s friend whispers something in her ear, and Maeg’s boss queues a song on the machine.

The shabby man gets up, and takes the mike. He looks slightly embarrassed, as though he’s doing this for a child, perhaps.

_We were both young when I saw you,_   
_Closed my eyes and the flashback starts,_   
_I’m standing there,_   
_On a balcony in the summer air..._

Maegs and Evelyn exchange looks. Oh God. He’s not a bad singer, but he’s the kind of man you’d expect to sing the blues, maybe. Or 80’s era rock. This man bursting out in Guns’N’Roses or Bon Jovi, or even Sting wouldn’t have surprised Maegs. But this? Only last month’s sensitivity training, the very red, very alcoholic drink in her hand, and a stern look from Agent Allen keep Maegs from slamming her forehead into the table in front of her.

The song (thankfully) ends. The lyrics were never meant to be sung by a man that age. Age-Cerise is enthusiastic about clapping. When Evelyn and Maegs are only polite, she glares at them. “You will cheer for my friend, Bruce.” The words are hard. “Dr. Banners been through a lot, and the least you too can do is encourage his karaoke. We don’t want him to get angry.”

So, the two junior agents clap, and the night continues quietly. Maegs doesn't ask, but she's pretty sure that as much as Banner would like to sing  _Livin' on a Prayer,_ it might bring out a little green monster somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from "Love Story", written and preformed by Taylor Swift. I thought I could escape songs in my stories, but my first fandom is catching up to me.
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay in updating.


	5. Thor Odinson

Dateline: Feburary 2011  
Northern New Mexico

Maegs stared between the message on her SHIELD-issue smartphone and the prone figure curled up on the couch. She thought about telling Cerise, Hill, Fury and the whole Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division where they could stick their request. This was her vacation. (Christmas did _not_ count; she wasn't not allowed to get mad at Christmas and she spent half her time playing mediator between her tempestuous siblings and her equally volatile mother and the other half jetlagged to hell.) And, this was barely a vacation. It was almost as stressful as a holiday.

Jos groaned, and her fingers groped at the folding table next to the couch. She grabbed at the mostly-empty, open bottle of ibuprofen (CostCo size, not like the wimpy little pharmacy bottle Maegs keeps in her bunk for period cramps), and shook out five pills. They went into Jos’ mouth without eyes opening or the collection of $200. The dark-haired girl curled back into a ball, and she tugged a fleece blanket from high schools swim team closer around her shoulders.

Maegs settled into one of the second-hand hard plastic Ikea chairs, and fought an internal war. Jos was sick: she shouldn’t be traveling. But, Jos was always sick. That was the definition of chronic, which her sister was. And, getting out of the damn mountains where the temperature seemed to go up and down exactly like a yoyo might take off the edge that neither painkillers nor sleep nor expensive prescription drugs can cure. So, Maegs put work ahead of family and a made a decision.

The drive could be summed as ten hours Kvoth King-Killer, bickering about appropriate wake up times, bitching about their mother, their jobs, and a few suggestions they might meet George RR Martin (although he’s probably off killing non-Tony Starks…). And then, there was the three-hour diatribe where Jos explained all about _C. diff_ , and fecal transplants. At least Maegs’ work shit isn’t literal.

Their first night in the hotel was quiet. Despite her protests over the years that going to bed before midnight was for losers and children, Jos was out cold before ten. Maegs was the one to turn of the light and slip down into her double bed. One advantage of traveling with her sister as an adult was that they no longer had to share a bed. Jos had an unfortunate tendency to hog the covers and then blame her sister.

The next morning, Maegs drove away early so she doesn’t have to watch Jos curled up with more ibprofeun, various compression braces, and a ratty college sweatshirt their parents had bought for Maegs when she was thirteen. Jos was the good girl who went to their parent’s alma mater. Maegs is the rebel who ventured outside the fold, and the order. She wasn’t not sure her maternal grandmother will ever forgive her for studying with the Jesuits.

Her next step was to check in with local command. Coulson was in charge. Normally, she liked Coulson. He was a bit straight laced, but he was good at what he did. However, the big mobile command site, with the heavily armed security guards, were going to make her job of setting _fair_ compensation a lot harder. People tended to get greedy when they learned the government is involved.

Maegs almost laughed when Coulson layed out the full details of the situation. Some alien, Norse God, Viking wannabe, or insane asylum escapee gifted with amazing strength and a prodigious lack of knowledge about social customs that outstripped the most clueless Otaku back at SHIELD HQ, had been hit by a truck full of Astrophysicists. The giant … personage then proceeded to terrorize the Mora hospital. An immovable, silver hammer with a leather handle and filigree had also touched down, creating its own, personal crator the size of a baseball diamond. No one could lift the damn thing, although someone did attempt to superglue a bottle opener to it. (Presumably to help the locals deal with disappointment when they wouldn’t lift it.) Then Coulson had shown up and quarantined the hammer. Then three men – an Asian looking guy, a French-looking guy and a man who looked like he could be Grimley’s twin in the Tolkien franchise with Elijah Wood – and a woman in armor appeared. They were shortly followed by a large black man-monster hybrid thing. At which point the blond crazy managed to get the hammer to fly half a mile to him (no doubt taking out a building or dozen in the process) and kicked the shit out of the black monster alien.

The description of “disaster site” didn’t seem to do the little town justice. It was barely a town _before_ whatever the fuck blew in showed up. But, after? The requisite gas station/video rental store/grocery store was in shambles. The town diner is crowded, but largely unharmed except for the signage outside, and of the handful of houses still standing, there is some structural damage to at least a third. She doesn’t bother to speculate how much is new, and how much could be attributed to flying tools.

Tired, Maegs convinced Jos to have dinner at the hotel. The puns flowed free and fast. They talk about books some more, and about Paulie’s latest attempt at wooing. Their brother is known for putting his foot in his mouth, especially when he’s around beautiful women. At least this time, he hadn’t brought up any memories of dead parents.

Jos drags Maegs into the bar after dinner for a nightcap. “Fermented foods help maintain a healthy gut,” she insisted. Maegs isn’t in a position to argue with the biochemist turned microbiologist, although she was pretty sure that Jos shouldn’t drink given her propensity to ingest handfuls of painkillers.

She almost pulled her sister away when she realized the place was filled with SHIELD agents. Coulson and the team were letting off some steam. The handlers and their clean up crews were always a little uptight. They had to be, it was their job to make sure that things went smoothly and no one found out. And, when things didn’t go smoothly, it was their job to bring people home, no matter what that took. As a result, most people who worked at SHIELD and had clearance beyond level 1 or 2 were, at a bare minimum, respectful of the handlers and their eccentricities. If they, or an active duty agent, wanted to wander around the Helicarrier or the Nevada offices with a pair of rats called Dumbledore and Grindewalde on their shoulders (occasionally asking the two animals questions, and listening as the rats whisper in their ear) or read trashy grocery store romance novels on their lunch breaks, or collect vintage Captain America trading cards, no one would say anything. They just learned to push the cream across the table, and hunker down into the darkness of their own job.

However, a bar full of SHIELD Agents – handlers or not – was likely not the place for a drunken Jos. She talked about work (and thus poo) _more_ often when she’s drunk, unlike a normal person. Well, work and boys and people Maegs has never met and whatever other topic sprungs to her mind. Drunken Jos had fewer filters than regular Jos, and a piece of cheese cloth is better at holding back unwanted information than the older Woodhouse sister. The type of disaster that might happen – Maegs prayed that Jos behaved herself and only offered to sample someone’s microbiome – could cost a job a certain secret government agency.

They were already halfway to the bar when Maegs another group in the corner with a very large, very blond man, and several broken beer bottles.

Jos pushed through the crowd to the polished bar, tapping her card against the laquered wood surface. A few of men leered, but mostly, they gave Jos space. She’s not SHIELD, company policy was to get her in, get her out, and not talk about anything too strange around a civillian.

“I’ll have a single vodka soda in a tall glass, and whatever she wants.” Jos nodded toward her younger sister. She was still completely oblivious to the group of unmentionables round her.

“Umm, cider,” Meags supplied quietly.

Jos gave the bartender a warm smile as he filled their order. She managed to twitch her top in just such a way that the red-brown mole on her left breast showed. Maegs had once observed that people found the mole quiet attractively. Well, in point of fact, she’d observed that people just stared at a little too long, but that was likely the same thing when it came to a breast. Jos left a few crumpled dollars curled conspicuously in the top of the tip pitcher, and carried the drinks back to Maegs.

They settled near the group of scientists and the massive companion. Maegs wondered for a fleeting moment if he might be the alien from the earlier reports, but put the thought out of her head. Sane, normal people did not go out for drinks after work with Gods, Aliens, Heros, or Monsters. Not that Maegs had ever considered herself sane or normal. But, this was the real world, filled with math, science, sick siblings and small miracles. Aliens/Gods did not fit in that paradigm. Besides, what kind of Alien God would listens to graduate students bitching about funding and the grant cycle?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” the dark-haired astrophysicist moaned, taking a long draw on her beer. “That’s all my data! Five years of work down the drain.”

“What about your published papers?” Jos couldn’t mind her own business.

“Of what papers do you speak?” The very large, very blond man dropped his plastic cup on the table with a shudder. “Another?”

The younger girl – Darcy or Darla or Dru – snorted. “Don’t look at me, I’m not legal for another month.”

Maegs rolled her eyes, but apparently no one else noticed the girl’s admission. If D— was anything like Paulie, she had a fake. Hopefully it was not Hawaiian and made out for one McLovin’.

The older professor went up to the bar to order another round. He specifically requested the giant’s beer be put in plastic again. Something about not wanting to pay for anymore glasses.

Jane shood her head, resigned. “I don’t have any.” Her voice was so empty, so passive. “And, I don’t even have data to apply for a grant!”

The professor returned with the next round, and the giant frowned. “Then, Lady Jane, I will get you some of these papers!” He reached out his hand, imploringly. “You must show me, Megan.”

Coulson is at their table before Maegs realized he was still in the bar. The agent’s suit is impeccable, his tie straight, and his shirt crisply pressed.

“Mr Odinson, I’m not sure Mjölnir can solve this.” He motioned to the timid bartender.

Jos cut them both off. “She’s not Megan!” The words were spoken of the conviction of an exhausted, slightly drunk, protective, proud older sister. The tone was a stern reminder that she was the only person allowed to mess with her family.

“She is not Megan?” Odinson sounded confused. “I have been told this is a common Midgardian name for a female creature.”

Jos shrugs. “It might be a common name of – did you say Midgard? What are you, some kind of Viking Pagan? Not that I judge, but…” Oh, Jos definitely didn’t get scattered brained. Ever. “But, her name isn’t Megan. It’s Maegs. May-eggs.”

Maegs winced. She hates the two-syllable version of her name, used only on her birthday of when she lived at home and her mother wants her downstairs ten seconds ago to do some chore. She was not entirely sure she wanted the entire bar to hear the story _behind_ her name, either.

“Margaret Agnes,” she supplied quickly and quietly, before Jos can blare it to the world. “But Meags is shorter. Just like Meg is shorter than Megan.”

The blond relaxed a bit at that, but remained poised to fly out of the room in search of the elusive papers Jane needed.

“Jos, I think that Mr. Odinson doesn’t know about the joys of peer-reviewed journals,” Maegs announced into the quiet bar. “I think you should educate him.” She doesn’t actually know who Mr. Odinson is, but if Coulson moved that fast to keep the guy calm, it was probably in her best interest to keep him quiet. Unless she wanted to be stuck in New Mexico for the next six months with a bunch of crazies and her sister.

Jos grabbed the blond giant’s arm, and started chattering at him about things like Peer Reviewing, Nature, PLoS One, Open Source, and, of course, microbes. The older girl steered him toward the bar, where she proceeded to buy a sour beer, because it was a “fermented food” and made by the brother of a friend. For a girl who didn’t drink beer, Jos knew a lot of brewers.

Jane and the doctor got dragged in as well, and suddenly there was discussion of scientific collaboration, the professor’s interest in brewing, and the difference between telescopes and microscopes. Before she worked with poo, Jos was a self-described “Microscopy Whore.”

Another agent, someone she recognized from across the mess but doesn’t know the name of, came over with glass. “If your sister needs a job after graduation, we’re always hiring scientists, especially ones in up and coming fields.” The words were quiet, for her ears only. “And, we have excellent health insurance. We cover all sorts of pre-existing conditions.”

Maegs frowned. She didn’t like how much SHIELD knew about her sister. How much they probably knew about her family. But, she couldn’t say anything. She had a job to do.

Instead, she took the tumbler of scotch over to where Coulson was sitting. “How would your department feel about funding grants for promising masters students who lost all their data?”

Coulson smiled. It was tired, and barely reached his eyes, but it was there. “I like the way you think.”

 


	6. Captain America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick warnings:  
> (1) There are more OCs here. Although, if you've gotten this far, you know that Maegs isn't just sitting around hiding all the time.  
> (2) There is also math.

Dateline: September 2011;  
The Helicarrier; outside New York Harbor

The SHIELD cafeteria was excellent for people watching. It wasn’t a new observation, but certainly a recurring one in Maeg’s life. It was Saturday morning, and the agents, specialists, employees and guests were streaming through the cafeteria for brunch. Watching people fill their plates was more of a character study than the “CostCo Party Planner” game she had played with her dad. You could guess a lot about the backstory of someone, based on what they put in their cart, or in this case, on their try. Although Maegs hoped no one in the SHIELD cafeteria would try to top the infamous mountain man who had bought a sump pump, a sheet cake, two bags of kitty litter and a few thousand tampons. She’s pretty sure Agent Brompton will clobber anyone who tried to take a sheet cake without permission.

One notable difference between weekdays and weekends was the attire. In the fall and spring, sports apparel made an appearance. Agent Hill alternated between the orange and blue of the bears, the red, white and blue of the Cubs and an overly large, signed Blackhawks jersey, depending on the season. Some of the younger agents would wear their college sports shirts. In part, it was a way to support their alma maters and encourage the little rivalries that sprung up. It also let them brag about their academic prowess: nerd cred was nerd cred. Others arrived in workout gear. There was an unspoken agreement that everyone would cover their abdomens, because sometimes all that muscle in one place could distract people from their food. (Evelyn the intern had had that problem with the spandex before she went off to find a pair of men fifteen years her senior who drove around in an old Impala.) There were also the few agents who tried to show up in their pajamas. Not even Brompton had been able to convince Clint Barton that flannel pants decorated with Legolas’s face were inappropriate.

Maegs collected her breakfast: a couple of dumplings, a mug of lukewarm chocolate, a couple of pancakes, and cookie. She might be in her mid-twenties, but Maegs wasn’t a full adult, yet. Unless being an adult meant deciding that she could eat ice cream for dinner. … Although technically being an adult also meant that she had to buy her own ice cream for dinner.

“How goes accounting?” Maegs settled across from her friend, Sid. They’d met in one of the endless budget meetings. Maegs had been the only person in the meeting to laugh at Sid’s strange joke. It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Then, Sid had invited Maegs to join STAB, SHIELD’s acapella group. Maegs was pretty sure he was her favorite person.

Sid shrugged, and chewed his eggs. “Same as always. How goes adjustment?”

“Capsicle has throw us for a loop.” Maegs let out an exasperated sigh. “Mostly because we have to figure out how to make remittance.”

Sid snorted. “Hating market variation at the moment?”

“Just trying to figure out how to model this. And how much you guys will budget to us for the payment.” Maegs takes a bite of her dumplings, and a satisfied smile spreads across her face.

Sid shakes his head. “It depends on what we’re talking. If its more than the latest round of Stark phones we had to buy for the Agents, maybe not.”

The Stark phones had been a disaster. Tony Stark was, undeniably a genius, but whatever had happened last year had caused some odd things. The phones and their service contract had cost a few million dollars, and they had worked for the first few weeks. The Agents had learned to use them, and found some of the more amusing quirks. The new phones refused to work unless they were supplied with three ICE numbers and included a built-in app about with basic first aid and notes about when to call poison control. Actually, considering the trouble SHIELD agents got themselves into, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Then, the engineers had started reverse engineering them. And then, they’d started calling into Stark tech support, at which point, the whole amicable relationship between SHIELD and Stark tech had broken down, and Stark technology had decided to start charging per customer service call.

“Umm… think on that order.” Maegs turns pink. They haven’t decided on a figure, yet.

Sid winces. “It’s going to be fun getting that one through.”

Maegs groans. “It’s always fun getting stuff through. The bosses are great at making promises, but...”

“Coulson is a fan.” Sid makes a nod across the room to Coulson’s sensible khakis and his collection of vintage Captain American trading cards. “He’ll probably put pressure on Potts, and Potts will make things happen in finance. You could quote Coulson seven or eight figures, and he’d probably make it happen.”

“Closer to six then seven,” Maegs admits quietly.

Sid whistles through his teeth.

“Can I join you?” JJ, one of the younger tech geeks and a contralto in STAB, studies the pair and holds out a tray of food.

Sid looks up at JJ with a grin. “Nah, this is for people who aren’t in love with robots.”

“I only like the ones that vibrate.” JJ executes a gentle hip check, and Maegs shoves over. “All the flying and spying gets a little boring.”

“We could use a fly-ee spy-ee at sectionals this afternoon. You never know what the altos are going to do. Especially when they decide to impersonate tenors.” A balled-up paper napkin lands in Sid’s empty water glass.

“Oh, com’mon, altos the hardest working, least loved section.” Maegs sang as an alto for a good sixteen years before her senior year of college when she got sick, and her college director informed her that she was, in fact, a soprano. She still identified with the altos, though. “If the sopranos wander off, everyone notices. If the altos don’t show, there’s a hole but no one knows what it is.”

“We’re not having sectionals today,” Sid complained. “We’re getting a new guy and we have to do a try out.”

“But try outs were a month ago,” JJ complained, around a bite of burrito. A dollop of guacamole dropped on the plate underneath.

Sid shrugged. “Hill and Bandicoot gave the orders.” Bandicoot was in the psych department, and one or more members and or founders of STAB had been sent in due to the name. Explaining a dyslexic musical pun to a man who considered 90’s boy bands the height of music had not been easy, but eventually they’d gotten in across.

“Oh, God.” Maegs took a long drink of her now cool chocolate. Her phone vibrated, and she glanced at the message before gathering things up. “Allen needs me to do a last round of number crunching before we present our report. I’ll see you at practice this afternoon.”

  


Maegs burst into the small conference room, slightly late. She and the Insurance team had been debating the number they should pass onto to finance. As a result, she ended up next to the new guy, a tall blond with a longish crew cut. His pants had a crease down the front, and he wore a collared shirt. He frowned over the vocal warm ups. The idea of M&M mashing was apparently foreign, as were mother pheasant pluckers.

When they segwayed into actual songs, the blond stumbled over The Boxtop’s _Letter_ , and their Adele arrangement, but had no problem with _The Star Spangled Banner_. Maegs shared her musical binder with him, although she had most of the songs memorized already. Doc, the college director who had informed Maegs of her unknown higher nature, had insisted on memorized music, as had DP, the high school director before. It was a little odd to not know the most current hits, but Maegs held her tongue. Maybe new guy was a hipster or a musical throwback or an alien. Weirder things had happened at SHIELD.

After their full rehearsal, they tried the new guy out with a solo. Someone had found him sheet music for I’ve got a Gal, which he shyly offered to Cas, their rehearsal accompanist. He had a decent tenor. Not the kind that would make girl’s panties crumble the way Darren Criss seemed to do to Jos, but a nice voice none the less.

There was a quick round of voting, and New Guy was called back in.

Sid’s teeth flashed white against his dark skin as he made the announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to our newest STAB member, Steven Rogers!”

The room filled with warm applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am enough of a nerd that I ran back of the envelope calculations based on a consumer price index based inflation rate and the interest rate on the ten year t-note. Steve Roger’s base salary was assumed to be $2000/year, based on the salary of a Naval Lieutenant with less than 5 years of experience in 1943. I may have miscalculated (Maegs is the economist, I’m just a scientist), but at a minimum, Steve Rogers is owed $355,000 dollars in back pay, but is more realistically owed about 4.8 million. I figure that with SHIELD’s budget, its an amount that can be paid back in a lump sum, but would result in some salary cuts or negotiations somewhere. I don’t doubt that SHIELD has some of its own bureaucratic BS which makes actually getting money places quite difficult.
> 
> Also, I’m not sure if I should apologize for the musical abuse going on here. … I did check and Chris Evens can sing. Or at least, there are various videos of the Avengers Cast singing, and joining an acapella group felt sort of Captain America.


	7. The Avengers

Dateline: June 2012  
Central Park, New York

After Loki’s various appearances, a number of “non-essential” personnel were moved off the helicarrier. There was discussion of relocating to another city, but it hadn’t happened yet. Rumors held the Cleveland was a contender, along with Peoria, Phoenix, Charlotte, or maybe Denver. Maegs wouldn’t mind a move to the mountains so much. In the mean time, Insurance was taken out to a non-descript office building in Brooklyn, and the agents were offered apartments nearby. They were still in SHIELD, still available whenever the agency called and asked them to come in, but at least getting food delivered at two am was marginally easier.

Maeg’s new apartment was tiny, even smaller than Jos’ Colorado “shoe box” and she knew SHIELD is paying an exorbitant amount for it. It was furnished in haphazard thrift store, second hand government agency and returned Ikea. JJ suggested they could spend more on beer if they didn’t furnish well, and it would be easier to move if there was no furniture. Both statements were true, but they made Maegs feel a little bit empty inside. She wasn’t stupid enough to go joust at windmills like Jos might have, but she was still disappointed. She knew the lack of permenance made it easier for JJ to buy a Subaru and pack up everything and drive away. Insurance and Tech wouldn’t be allowed to live together any more on a magical floating submarine. 

Between settling in and discovering the Thai place around the corner that delivered until 4 am and the Pho carry out that started at 8 am, Maegs worked on the clean up effort. Someday, New York and SHIELD might go back to normal. But, they were all too in shock now. There are the masses of refugees who need food, clothing, shelter, and care.

Almost no one knew how to respond to something as earth shattering as an alien invasion. There were the people who acted as if nothing had changed, and just kept going. There were the philosophers and the scientists, who tried to collect samples and track movements. There were the conspiracy theorists, who knew what had really happened. There were the people who turned toward, or away from religion, the same event irrefutable proof that there was and was not a God. There were people who turned to drugs because they could no longer cope with the world around them. And, then there were the survivors who pushed down thoughts and feelings and questions about the future, and instead ran on autopilot because someone had to make sure that New York survived.

Maegs found herself in the last category.

Saturday through Thursday, she rose early and got dressed using the camping lantern that Agent Allen had brought over as part of a housewarming gift. Considering other items in the package had included a self-filtering water bottle, a taser strong enough to stop the Hulk in his tracks for at least a few seconds, a first aid kit with a cervical collar and enough alcoholic ginger beer to keep Maegs and JJ in Dark and Stormies for quite a while, it was hard not to wonder if Agent Allen had known what was coming. Electricity was still patchy, almost a month after the event. Maegs wasn’t sure if that occurred because of damage to the infrastructure, because there were not enough capable workers, or because people were hoarding it. To be honest, aside from Stark Tower, Rockafeller Center, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty and the Public Library, most places were experiencing reduced hours and rolling brownouts.

She’d take the lantern to the bathroom, and finish getting ready. More and more often, her makeup routine involved brown mascara and bright pink lipstick. Maegs wasn’t sure why the pink lipstick was so important, but somehow, it made her feel like a badass.  
Once she was ready, Maegs would find something in the fridge. At that point, JJ would stumble out, swearing and looking like an anime character. Maegs would finish her breakfast, and make sure JJ had some sort of coffee.

The pair would go into work together. Most of Insurance’s work was in the city, near the former site of Stark Tower. JJ was doing something useful and classified. They’d take the subway as far as they could, and then walk the rest of the way. Maegs quickly adopted JJ’s habit of wearing combat boots instead of her usual ballet flats. The boots might not be as fashionable, but the steel toed shoes were critical for protecting her toes from debris and stilettos.

Maegs would settle into her tent with a cup of tea and a Stark tablet. A long line of people would pass by, increasingly trying her patience. Maegs knew that people were in trouble, and had been displaced. She knew SHIELD had some responsibility, apparently having hidden the Tesseract away for so many years. (If she ever met Fury, she was going to advise against keeping mystical artifacts around. That was a lie. If she met Director Fury, she’d probably shut up and stare. The man scares her a bit. … Hill. Hill was a reasonable woman who might actually listen to an insurance adjustor.)  But, SHIELDs involvement didn't mean that she was personally responsible, the way many people seemd to think. Like it or not, most days, Maegs was just a cog in the machine.

On the twelfth day (well, she thought it was the twelfth day), Maegs was working with a tiny eighty-five year old woman who had spent almost her entire life in New York. She’d been born and raised in the city, except for a stint in the USO. Bettie was independent, feisty and crusty. She tapped her cigarette on the table, and told Maegs that she would like to return to the second-story walk up apartment where she'd been living since the Carter Adminsitration, and that she categorically did not want to go to the assisted living facility SHIELD was offering to pay for.

Maegs tried to keep her smile bright instead of tired and said that she would do her best. She thought about her great aunt, who had finally gotten to sick to live alone at 95, when dementia had made her go funny. Maeg’s grandparents had moved Auntie in a nursing home. They’d gone to visit a few times: Jos, Maegs, their parents and Paulie. And, it had been confusing and disorienting. Her great aunt had only talked about going home from the hospital, about how her dead brother, Fred, never called anymore, and about how she was worried for her mother. Maegs wondered if it wouldn’t have been kinder, moving the old woman sooner, so she felt safe. But, engaging in that fight with Bettie would just make Maegs seem like the enemy, and she was not ready to do that.

Instead, Maegs glanced over at the food tent, where a line of food service personnel from SHIELD, caters brought in from New Jersey and well-meaning volunteers dished out food. The rag-tag team of over-opinionated cooks had managed to pull together a meal that would, supposedly, satisfy everyone from the off-duty firemen to the vegan, now homeless (and not just homeless-looking) hipsters from Columbus Circle. For some reason, almost everyone could agree on a protein smothered in barbeque sauce.

Maegs shut down her tablet and slid it into her bag. There was no reason to risk theft if she didn’t have to. Not that there were many people who could have gotten through the layers of encryption. Still, it wasn’t worth risking.

She offered her arm to Bettie. “Ms Clark, would you care for lunch?”

Bettie smiled, her entire face transformed. There was something about having lived almost a century that gave a face the ability to express pure emotion. Maegs did not want to see Bettie angry. “That would be lovely, Margaret.”

“Maegs.” She insisted, covering up her offending name tag. She was going to kill someone in logistics if it came up again. Being confused with her father’s youngest sister, the professor at Georgetown, wasn’t so bad. Being confused with her second cousin, who had run off to someplace called Graymalkin Lane after she turned 18, was less comfortable.

As she guided the nonagenarian over to the food tent, Maegs was pretty sure that Bettie didn’t need her help. The woman was tiny, but strong. If she’d been facing the now infamous Loki, she’d probably have called some series of names and thwolped him with her cane, making him surrender. Instead, Tony Stark and his team had destroyed half of Manhattan. Bettie guided Maegs through the line, pointing out everything she wanted.

Maegs settled Bettie at a table, before re-entering the fray for her own food. The line had grown in the time it took to guide Bettie through the line, and Maegs was sure it was going to take her three times as long to get through. She noticed Peter Parker and a group of friends in front of her. He smiling and filming his friend’s antics on a palm-sized camera. They were a loud group, not particularly rowdy, but raucous in the way teenage boys got.

She found Carla, Manny, and Sam, and joined them to wait. The three were specialists, recently out of the Academy, and involved in the physical clean up effort. Sam was dusty, muscular, and spoke eight languages. Carla was smaller than Bettie, but she had been the one-woman moving crew that got Maegs and JJ settled. Manny, well, Manny was on track to acquire her own personal Insurance agent, a reprimand from her handler, and a commendation for Deputy Directory Hill.

Manny and Sam chatter amiably about what they had seen. Most of the Chitari bodies? Carasses? Carci? … dead had been collected by SHIELD and spirited away for the scientists to study or to burn. The mystery of what actually happened to the alien was as much SHIELD rumor as the reason Fury had a bobbed pink wig around somewhere.

The four friends were joking about mostly inconsequential things, like how long it was going to take the cleaning crew to discover the food Iron Man had stashed around the Helicarrier. It was a way to avoid the topics of conversation none of them could handle: Barton and Selvig’s betrayal, Coulson’s death and New York’s destruction. Suddenly, the entire crowd grew silent while Manny blithely blathered about how Stark had caught her playing Galanga. It was like the time Jos and Maegs had been singing a dirty little ditty of their own invention, and their father had entered the room. Jos, her back to the door had continued singing another refrain while Maegs had been suddenly silent.

She turned and saw them. The four men and women who had both destroyed and saved New York and the world. Thor had returned to wherever Thor came from (Ass-hat? Asriel? Asgard?) Stark stood confident and relaxed in jeans and a t-shirt. The arc reactor glowed bright-white through his red t-shirt, giving no doubt of who or what he was. Steve flanked him on the left, perpetually the clean-cut boy next door and Agent Allen’s friend, Bruce. On the right, she thought she recognized the pair of specialists, from somewhere else. The stocky, muscular man was almost surgically attached to the petite redhead. Of course, she knew how they were. Everyone knew who they were: The Hulk, Captain American, Iron Man, The Black Widow and Hawkeye. They were the Avengers.

The mass of people parted before the superheroes, like the red sea parting before Moses. She wasn’t not sure Stark even noticed. Banner looked distinctly nervous, though. Without thinking, Maegs began humming What Makes you Beautiful. Sam and Manny both glared.

The woman lent in to say something to Stark, and he shrugged. Steve leaned in and said something back. And then, the five Avengers joined the line for food. While it wouldn’t technically qualify as a surreal moment, seeing as there were no melting clocks or stick figure horses suddenly in the park, it was the sort of moment people would talk about. The fangirls of Tumblr would say that it was what made Tony their perf little baby. Buzzfeed would probably include it on their Top Ten Reasons the Avengers are Awesome list. And, no doubt, the national news magazines covering the events would cite it as well.

The crowd started talking again, after the Avengers offered a few refusals to skip ahead in line and many gracious responses for pictures. Steve and the Widow both hit Stark a few times to convince him of the polite refusal. Stark had no problem with the pictures, though.

Maegs and the young specialists hold off and focus on getting food. One thing they’ve learned from the war with Loki is that the only thing trumped by free food is safety and a clean, private toilet. The four friends collect their food (Maegs even sweet talked Ryan into giving her a chicken breast with sauce on the side and some of the undressed coleslaw from the back), and found a patch of lawn.

She was surprised when, a few minutes later, Parker popped down next to her from a tree. “Hi Maegs! It’s been a while.” He hugs her gently around the shoulders. Parker has apparently noticed that he is no longer a scrawny boy.

“Hi Parker,” She smiled back. “How are you?”

“Staying out of trouble.” Parker glanced over at his group of friends, now playing a pick up game of basketball with some of the children. “Well, mostly.”

“I don’t know anyone like that.” Maeg’s tone oozes sarcasm. “Everyone I know is excellent at staying out of trouble.”

Manny, Sam and Carly grinned wolfishly.

“Who’s good at staying out of trouble?” Tony Stark interrupted their conversation, settling himself on the grass. “Nice to see you, Parker, Galanga.”

Sam grinned and nodded around a mouthful of chicken.

“Not you,” The Widow accused, cooly. Maegs noticed the redhead kept someone between herself and Banner at all times.

“I’m hurt,” Stark retorted with a grin on his face.

Steve settled in the grass. “Is STAB putting on a relief concert?”

There have been various charity efforts around the city. The Red Cross, in conjunction with mobile companies, has been raising money. The Stark Foundation has been offering money everywhere, and various celebrities and politicians are campaigning on their contributions.

“Maybe,” Maegs shrugs. “If we ever have enough time off from actual work to practice.”

“So, not this week, then?” Steve frowns. “I was really liking the Adele we were singing.”

“You know Adele?” Banner was surprised.

Steve was too polite to answer around his mouthful of potato salad.

Then, Banner recognized her. “You’re… Bonnie Tyler girl. From Portland. How is Cerise?”

“She’s good. She’s up, closer to Columbus Circle, today.” Maegs tried to keep her voice light. “She’s doing business claims, and I’m on residential.”

Steve and Banner wince in unison.

Maegs ignores their reaction. ”Do you still sing, Dr. Banner?”

The shabby, tired-looking scientist shrugged. “The Big Guy still likes bubblegum pop, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Stark, eavesdropping, stared at Banner. “That’s how you stay calm?”

The widow and her partner also turned to stare at their teammate. The entire corner of the park seemed to be waiting for something.

“Is it the modulatory harmonies that keep you calm?” Stark demanded.

Maegs rolled her eyes and kept her tone even. “Mr. Stark, if you’re not going to speak English, you can go sit with the scientists.” She pointed to a STARK INDUSTRIES CARES team on the lawn.

“How come you are the English police, Insurance Agent?” Stark demanded. “You said the same thing, last time we talked.”

She shrugged. “Communication is important.”

A look passed between the Widow and Hawekeye. “Insurance? Aren’t you the one who ca-“ Hawkeye was still a little loud, and his voice carried across the park.

“Yes.” The Widow was quick to answer. She turned to Maegs. “We never did thank you.”

Maegs shrugged. “You saved me from Parker sitting. And you paid for the driers. It seemed like a fair trade.”

“Laundry is way too expensive.” Hawkeye spoke quietly enough that only their group could here. “I mean, it’s almost three dollars to do a load.”

“Yeah, but only have black clothes, Katniss.” Stark accused.

“I like purple.” The archer sticks out his tongue. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Clint.”

“Tasha.” The widow offers her hand.

“Maegs, from Insurance.” She shakes the Agent’s hands.

Banner’s words were sincere. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” Maegs ducked her head shyly, and collected her garbage. There were days she hated what she did, and wished that she’d never joined SHIELD, either as a cook or in Insurance. Then, there were the days that made it all worthwhile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have yet ot see Iron Man 3, and so I’m not sure if that dealt with the devastation of New York City. Based on Agents of SHIELD, it doesn’t sound like the city was decimated the way I’ve described. Although, I think that unless its your disaster, you forget about it quite quickly. I imagine the aftermath of the Chitari Invasion would be somewhat similar to September 11th or Hurricane Katrina, or else like a warzone. 
> 
> Also, please excuse my lack of knowledge about New York City. I’ve only been once, and I was quite young. Everything described here comes from research gleaned through the great oracle of google. I’ve put Stark Tower at Broadway and 55th, about 4 blocks south of Central Park.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, favorited and commented. I appreciate all the support. I don't know if Maegs' story will continue or not, but thank you for coming on this journey with me!


End file.
